Líf and Lífþrasir
by Bardic Jester
Summary: Five years after returning to the target world line, Kurisu and Okabe meet at a restaurant. She wants to understand the man who saved her. He wants to see her one more time.


Líf and Lífþrasir

_It's easier to forget..._

Time stopped when I first caught glimpse of her. She wore a white dress shirt under a long black cardigan. Her hair was shorter: cut above the shoulders, and she looked older, more mature. But I knew it was her from the first moment. My heart skipped a beat, and everything went silent. The bustling restaurant was drowned out by her face. It'd been five years. Five long years. And here she was in front of me: Kurisu Makise.

I stood from my seat, and waved at her. She probably did not recognize me. I had a full picture of her drawn in my mind. She had only a sketch of me: the boy with the lab coat stabbed by her father. I barely resembled that naive kid. The lab coat was gone. I hung it up permanently. I could never wear it, not after what happened. That part of me was gone. It was only connected to me by the a thin shadow; a line connected to me I could never cross. Now, I wore a tailored suit with a thin black tie. My hair was short, and styled to the side.

Still, she was able to recognize me. Her face lit up once it found mine. She waved back. She passed along the tables slowly, like a cherry blossom caught in the wind drifting along the branches. I tugged on my suit jacket anxiously. My lip quivered. I felt transported to the lab, before it all went wrong, sitting along side her, joking, laughing. I felt her console me; brush her hand over mine. It wasn't her though. Not really. That was Christina. Only Kurisu Makise stood before me.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I greeted, shaking her hand.

"No, it's all mine," she said. "I feared we'd never meet again. I can't express how happy I was to receive your email."

"Please, sit," I motioned towards the table next to us. She sat down across from me. I flagged down a waitress. Kurisu ordered red wine. I finished off my beer, and ordered another. The band in the corner played a glassy jazz tune. Kurisu's vibrant red hair glowed in the warm light. She looked ethereal. I felt like, if I reached forward, my hand would pass right through her.

"After the attack," she started to say, "I looked everywhere for you. I must have visited a dozen hospitals, but no one had a Hououin Kyouma listed. It took me a couple of years to figure out that it was a pseudonym. Why did you not tell me your real name? I could have found you if you did," she spoke desperately, almost pleading.

I sat back. "Hououin Kyouma? I haven't heard that name in a long time. At the time, it probably felt more like my real name than my actual name." I shook my head. "The difficulty of finding me never crossed my mind to be honest. I was not thinking straight. I think that's apparent."

"It's just a shame. Every time I've come back to Tokyo, I've thought about trying to find you. Yet, I had no idea where to start looking. When I received your email, I was shocked, really. It came as such a surprise. I'm really glad you found me."

"It was luck. I was reading _Journal of Neuroscience_, and I recognized your name on that paper you did work on. It was easy after that. I emailed the lab, and they gave me your address." In a sense, this was not a lie. I did all of those things. But, I had regularly kept tabs of Makise over the past five years. I followed her channel name; I paid attention to the direction of her career. It was not done in the interest of contacting her. Most of the time, I had no intention of ever seeing her again. I just needed to know that, even though I had killed Christina, Makise Kurisu was still alive.

Kurisu sipped her red wine, and sat back in her chair. "Why were you reading the _Journal of Neuroscience_? It's not a common way to pass the time."

"It was for work."

"What do you do?"

"I'm doing phd work at the University of Tokyo in Neuroscience and Engineering."

"That's impressive," Kurisu leaned forward onto her hand. "University of Tokyo's the best school in Japan."

"Not as impressive as your career," I commented.

"That does not mean it's not impressive. You must have had amazing marks to get into such a prestigious program."

I shrugged. "My marks were unremarkable. I was hardly Tokyo Denki's model student. Most of the time I studied there, I spent tinkering with different gadgets. I was just lucky that my last gadget ended up being well received."

"What was it?"

"A dream mapper."

"The Type C08?" She asked.

"Yeah. How do you know about it?" I asked.

"I've been thinking of doing some work on dreams, and it's come up a few times. Apparently it's a pretty remarkable piece of technology. A lot of room for improvement, but one of the best pieces of machine we have for it. The story of its inventor has went around a couple of times; it has sparked jealously with a couple of my coworkers. An undergrad that made such an important piece of technology. Something many dream of their entire careers. I'm surprised that you're its inventor. Who would have thought that my saviour was some kind of genius?" She spoke casually, sipping her wine.

I ran my fingers through my hair. "It's not that impressive. Most of my work at the moment has been focused on improving it. We're on the C13 model at the moment. Still, personally, I'd hardly call it a success."

"Why is that? It's the best in the field, and got you a place at the best University. How could that not be considered a success?" She seemed perplexed.

"Well," I said, "It does not accomplish what I want it to."

"And what would that be?" She asked, leaning forward onto her elbows.

"Do you ever have dreams, a special kind of dream, that you feel connected to differently from others? Ones that feel like memories; ones that feel material, experienced fully with your senses, but have never occurred. They feel familiar. Like you're uncovering an old truth about yourself. Dreams you feel like you have to convince yourself did not actually happen. Have you ever felt that way?"

Kurisu nodded. "Yes. Yes I have."

"I want to see those dreams. And, more than that, I want to understand the part of the brain they are connected to. That's my goal. But, the C08, and even up to the C13, we've been unable to trace any difference in dreams of that kind. The data we receive is indistinguishable from any other dream."

"How do you know that they actually are different? Maybe it's just a misidentification on a part of our experience. We may only think they are different, but in reality, they are the same. It's dangerous to go into your tests searching only one possible conclusion, especially if the data does not give reason to believe it really exists."

"But I know it exists!" I insisted. "I can't explain why exactly, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is something different about them."

"That sounds like bad science if you're convinced that much, without being able to explain it."

"No, that's not it," I back-peddled. "My words were a little strong there. I'll just say that, due to some evidence I'm privy to, it seems far more likely that there is a something special about them, than not. There is a distinguishing difference."

"Alright," Kurisu conceded, sounding unconvinced. "What's your personal stake in it? Why do you care so much about it?"

"Well, I had a friend named Mayuri. She was haunted by those kinds of dreams. Dreams in which she would die in some traumatic way. Often they were terrible deaths, but sometimes they were random mundane accidents. And, I was in almost all of them, trying to stop it from happening, but I always failed. It really messed her up. We stopped meeting each other, because I knew when she saw my face, she was reminded of those dreams. It was painful for her. She went to psychiatrists and psychologists for help, but none of them could give her anything. They could not figure out what was causing these experiences. Ideally, if I'm able to figure out and map the dreams to the brain, then I'd like to find a way to cure her."

I continued: "I would also like to find out in what way the dreams are connected to memory. I'd like to find out if a part of our memory's being suppressed by the dreams. I know that sounds Freudian, but, in the dreams, it feel like memories are connected to them. I'd like to either unlock those memories and bring back what the brain is hiding, or if that's not possible, lock them out."

Kurisu tapped her glass. "That sounds very speculative," she spoke dismissively.

"It is, I'll admit it. I can assure you that my actual work is very well grounded, but that does not stop my goals from being lofty and a little large. I'd never have gotten as far as I have if they weren't like that."

We ordered another round of drinks.

"Can I ask you a question?" I postured.

"Sure," she nodded.

"What are your dreams like? The times you dream like that. You said you understand the feeling, right? I'm curious how they manifest in you."

Kurisu turned her head. She spun her glass of wine in her right hand. "I'd rather not say," she spoke softly.

"Please, it'll help me understand more about the kinds of dreams. I'd love to know. The only way I can change my speculation to data is through examination."

"A first person account of vague dreams is hardly a solid enough examination to draw data from."

"Except, I bet that the dreams are not very vague at all," I suggested. "Plus, even if it is not a very useful account, it does not mean it's useless."

Kurisu sighed. "Fine," she spoke roughed. "Just," she turned away again, "don't judge me by the contents of my dreams."

I crossed my arms. "I have no intention of the sort."

"Alright," she nodded. "I have dreams like that. And, for some reason, they're all concerned with you. It's weird. I barely remember you that day, when my father attacked me. Your face is blurry in my mind. But, in my dreams, I remember it perfectly."

She continued: "I dream about us getting caught out in the rain. I dream about us standing on a bridge, and I'm consoling you. I dream about us carrying some heavy box, and fighting the whole time. I dream..."

"Stop!" I raised my hand. My arm shook. It hurt more than I expected,to hear those words. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No, wait," she insisted. "I'm not done. There's one dream in particular. I have it, maybe once a week. It feels engrained on my brain. I'm running. I'm running as fast as I can. I'm running harder than anything in my entire life. I'm crying. For blocks, I run until my legs are on fire and my throat is gagging for air. The whole time, I'm begging in my mind. Begging to meet you one more time. Begging to see you. 'Please, let me see him one more time','please, let me see him one more time','please let me say what I need to say','please let me say what I need to say', 'please', 'please','please'. I reach this door, and I run up stairs, and I grab the doorknob, and I start to open the door, then the dream ends. I wake up, covered in sweat, feeling so alone." She breathed deeply. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I told you all of that. It's personal. I'm just surprised that the picture in my mind, during those dreams, of your face, is actually so accurate. Down to the angles of your cheeks." She reached forward. Her hand moved slowly. "It feels so strange. Like I can reach forward, and touch my dream."

Her hand stroked the side of my cheek. The tips of her fingers were soft. Her palm was warm. The muscles in my face tightened. Tears swelled in my eyes. And, yet, I felt taken away. Drifting down a river on my back, staring upwards towards the warm sun. I closed my eyes. I was where I wanted to be. Touched by her. Touched by her one more time. "Christina..." The name slowly escaped my lips.

She pulled back abrasively. Her fist clenched. "How... how do you know that name?" The colour drained from her face. Her eyes were wide.

"I..." I tried to muster up an explanation. There must be a reasonable way to say it. There must be some way to explain it to her. "It... it just felt like the right thing to say."

"Bullshit!" She nearly yelled at me. Quickly, she covered her mouth. A couple of the other people in the restaurant turned to look at us. She sank back into her seat. "I don't believe that. That cannot be the reason way. It's too much. It's too much of a coincidence."

"What is?" I asked.

"That's what you called me. What you call me when I'm in one of those dreams." She covered her mouth. "This is fucked up. It's seriously fucked up. I dream about you. These weird unique dreams I've never felt before. Then when I meet you, for the first time, not only are you an expert in the field of those kinds of dreams, you're personally dedicated to them, and you act exactly like you do in my dreams. That's too much. Who the fuck are you?" She seemed uncomfortable. Maybe even a little afraid.

I decided to tell my side of the story, not through my memories, but using her words. "I'm someone suffering the same as you. I'm haunted by you every time I close my eyes. I dream about the same things. I dream about going to your apartment. I dream about working together. I dream about the warmth of your hand. I dream about calling you Christina. I dream about kissing you with my eyes closed. I dream about you deciding to give up your life, for my friend Mayuri's."

I continued: "Most of all, I have a dream when I've accepted never seeing you again. A dream that you're gone. I move on, to a point I can never return, but, then, you burst though the door. With bated breath, you tell me: 'Okabe... I feel... I feel the same! I love-' and then I wake up." I covered my eyes with my hand. Tears built up in my eyes. It overwhelmed me. Kurisu stared at me.

"This is absurd. You're lying. You're trying to fuck with me. Do you think this is okay? I tell you about my weakness, then you shoot it back at me? For what? Pity? You're one sick son of a bitch."

With my hand still covering my eyes, I spoke. "I know it may seem that way. But, it's true. Think to yourself, those are the words you want to say whenever you have that dream, right?"

"You could have just guessed that. Or maybe I'm delusional. Anything would be more likely."

"I'm not denying that. But, this is what is really happening. That's why I think there's something more to these dreams. This is why I'm so focused on uncovering the truth about them. I want to know how they relate to memory. Why are these absurd coincidences occurring? There must be something more. There must be. There must be some way to open up whatever is being hidden, or," I took a deep breath, "someway to lock it all away."

Kurisu and I sat in silence. Neither of us looked at the other. I continued to cover my head. She stared at the other people in the restaurant. We were so close to each other. I could reach forward and touch her. Our experiences were shared by her brief intense dreams. We were close, but we were so far away. She could never understand it. I could never explain it. We were trapped in future chosen by Steins Gate. The only possibility after that summer, five years before.

"Are you familiar with Norse Mythology?" I asked her.

"Not really," she commented. "I don't know how that's relevant."

I ignored her comment. "At the end of Ragnarok only two humans will remain: Líf and Lífþrasir, one man and one woman. They will leave the wood of Hoddmímis Holt, and from these people the world will be inhabited. If this is true, then mankind is created again from tree trunks, just like Askr and Embla. Which would suggest a circularity of time. The world returns to before Ragnarok by moving forward."

Makise shook her head. "I don't understand, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Our final mission will be Operation Líf and Lífþrasir. I promise you this."

I reached my hand forward, and touched the back of Makise's palm. She was not ethereal; her skin was firm. I tried to smile. She watched me with empty eyes.

...

Author's Notes:

I hope you liked it.

Please Leave a Review.

Thanks. BJ.


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